Breathe.” He could tell she was speaking loud enough that he should hear her, but he could barely make out the words. We’re okay.” Lucy’s level, steady voice comforted his frazzled nerves, and he failed to notice that she suppressed a grimace as she tilted her head to the side, finally catching his gaze. “Where are you hurt?” She asked quietly, her eyes searching for his. Against the softness of her stomach, his hands began to tremble unsteadily. He needed to see her- he needed to see that she was okay, that her injuries were not severe. He reached down, against her pelvis, fingers pushing her to lean back as he unclasped the buckle of her duty belt at her hip.
Tim nudged close to her, standing between her knees as he reached over her body, lifting the vest off her small frame, untangling her arms from the bulky protective layer and dropping it in a pile beside her on the gurney. His fingers worked briskly, businesslike and methodical, touching her and handling her with practiced ease, helping her strip off her protective vest and then the attached equipment. “I think I busted a rib.” She breathed out, faintly, and in an instant his hands were on her, guiding her steadily to the gurney, supporting her gingerly as she eased onto the mattress. Beside her, Tim twirled on his heels, hands on his vest, his gaze intently focused on her. In the moments of their fighting, and after, she hadn’t noticed, but as the adrenaline subsided, it had become increasingly difficult to breathe deeply. She wiped a hand at her cheek, brushing away dirt and dried blood from a cut, cringing as it reopened. His voice had a trace of authority in it, which would have caused Lucy to roll her eyes had she not been grimacing through the pain of her injuries.
“Sit.” Tim’s voice tumbled tiredly through the small room roughly, and Lucy winced behind him, her hand pressing on her ribs, already throbbing from the physical blows she endured in their fight with the mob.
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